


Purgatory's Architect

by playlistnotrequired



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Character Introduction, Gen, Heaven, Heaven vs Hell, Hell, Missing Persons, Short One Shot, maybe i'll make it into a full length fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 20:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20644934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playlistnotrequired/pseuds/playlistnotrequired
Summary: Amira was proud of her life's work. After all, purgatory was certainly something that took a good deal of creativity. She's perfectly happy to live her days on Earth and come up with new ways of testing and teaching people, but one day when a certain angel and demon come to her for help, there's not much she can do to refuse them. (One-shot, possible full fic)





	Purgatory's Architect

**Author's Note:**

> I just decided to write this one day on a whim and ended up really liking it so here it is!

The air was tepid, a little more humid than she liked, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. She wasn’t too fond of global warming, not even those down in hell were in favor of it.* Her brown hair bunched up around her shoulders in large curls and she had an extra few centimeters of frizz around her head thanks to the weather. Across her back was her violin in its grey metallic case. For a being who had been around since the invention of the instrument and played it since, she wasn’t very good. She had been taking lessons for years, she just never found the time to practice. 

Right now she was on her way back from one of said lessons, walking down the busy streets of Paris with books of music clutched to her chest. She breathed in the smell of cigarette smoke around her and smiled a bit. The stench of the city was something that was just annoying enough, and that just enough people hated to be included in her next update. Especially these days with all that overtime Pollution had been doing. She’d have to buy them a drink next time she saw them. 

There was a spring in her step. It was Monday, her favorite day of the week. Everyone around her was miserable.  _ They can’t stay miserable forever _ , she thought,  _ eventually they’ll have to learn to put up with it and move on. Good practice.  _ In her mind, everyone was constantly practicing. For what? Purgatory. That long period of waiting between heaven and hell had been her responsibility. It was still her responsibility. At least in her opinion, it was. What was one supposed to do in those kinds of situations? When you’re commissioned for a job you do it to completion. And after that? If your job is complete you go start another one. But what do you do if you only have one job? You keep updating it. No one had asked her to do this, of course. The angels up top and the demons down below both agreed that the old punishments had been working for hundreds of years, why shouldn’t they continue to work? 

That was the problem with them, so old fashioned. Always wanting to do things the same way forever and ever and ever and ever and… well, you get the point. She wanted to keep purgatory modern, hip, if one could call it that. It was important to her that those undergoing the trials still understood the symbolism of what they were trying to learn, and walking through a wall of fire to understand lust wasn’t cutting it anymore. After the industrial revolution purgatory had undergone a full remodel, including modern technology in its torture and teachings, and she suspected that another full remodel was on its way. After all, it was the digital age now, and every single one of the seven sins had something interesting to say about mobile phones.**

She was brought out of her thoughts by the sound of a car engine. There were hundreds of cars that passed her while she was thinking and walking. But as the being she was, she could hear that this was a different kind of car. No one these days would be driving a car like that. There was only one person she could think of… well, he wasn’t a  _ person _ , really. She clutched her music tighter to her chest and walked faster. How could he have even found her here? Her unruly eyebrows furrowed and then fell back into a state of annoyance when she realized,  _ Aziraphale _ . They’d met up for a meal here around thirty years ago, something about missing crepes. The angel must have blabbed about it! 

The 1933 black Bentley pulled up next to her, slowing to walking speed. She sped up. 

“Hey!” Crowley yelled out the window. It wasn’t a very effective yell since his driver’s seat was on the wrong side and he had to yell through the open passenger side window, “Amira!” Amira said nothing, she walked faster. The car sped up, “I know you can hear me! And see me!”

“No, I can’t!” When she spoke English, she sounded as though her native language was French, even though English and French were the languages she’d learned 14th and 3rd respectively. 

“Amira, please,” It was Aziraphale now. He wasn’t yelling, merely using that innocent pleading tone of voice he only used when he wanted something, “Crowley says he’s really sorry.” 

“You know what? I don’t believe him.” Amira was marching now, her eyes scanning the Paris streets looking for the nearest subway entrance, “He can leave me alone and so can you!” 

“But I’ve never done anything,” Aziraphale protested.

“Associating yourself with  _ that _ demon is enough for me.”

“You can’t blame her for that one, angel,” Crowley muttered. He put his foot on the gas and sped the Bentley forward, making a hard right into an alley and cutting off Amira’s path. He got out of the car, Aziraphale followed him. “Amira you just need to hear us out. We need your help.” 

“You do? I’m sorry to hear that. Well, have a nice life,” she made to walk away again when Aziraphale stepped in front of her. 

“People are going missing,” he said, stopping Amira in her tracks, “Angels, demons, saints, even a few of hell’s most damned. We think they might be…” 

“In my realm. In purgatory, you mean?” 

“You’re from purgatory?” the back door of the Bentley opened and a sandy-haired boy of 12 stepped out. He looked at Amira with a mix of shock and wonder.

“Adam I told you to stay in the car,” said Crowley, but Adam ignored him. 

“That’s really cool. I’ve never met anyone from purgatory before.” 

“Who is this?” Amira pointed suspiciously at the boy and looked to Aziraphale for answers. 

“Well, you see, he’s the antichrist. Or rather, he was the antichrist before he gave it up. But he’s still kind of the antichrist and-” the angel stopped when Crowley put a hand on his shoulder. 

“The point we’re trying to make is that I’m sorry and we need your help. With the disappearances, upstairs and downstairs are starting to ask questions. They’ll find one way or another to blame us if it isn’t stopped. Heaven and Hell would know if any of their recruits went anywhere on Earth or the surrounding universe but purgatory is out of their sights. It’s the only explanation.” 

Amira thought on this. She didn’t like it when Crowley made sense. She didn’t like it much when Aziraphale made sense either. Both of them were just fine when they weren’t making sense. Why did they have to go and be logical? Amira knew why they’d come to her. 

“You want me to guide you through purgatory then?”

“That would be very helpful,” Aziraphale smiled, “no one knows it better than you.” 

“Normally, I’d be happy to make a trip back home. However, not if it’s helping you,” Amira sent a pointed look at Crowley, “I’ll never forgive you.” 

“My dear, what exactly did you do?” Aziraphale looked at Crowley cautiously. 

“The most horrible, awful, terrible thing anyone can do. He betrayed my trust.” 

“Look, Amira. I said I was sorry years ago,” Crowley began, but Amira cut him off. 

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. Do you know how much overtime you’re little mentor act cost me?” 

“What in God’s name is she talking about?” Aziraphale was getting exasperated now.

“ _ La Divina Commedia: Purgatorio _ is what I’m talking about,” Amira crossed her arms over her chest. 

Crowley made a face and tried to explain to Aziraphale, “It was just a little, harmless push in the right direction. I didn’t want the poor chap to be inaccurate.” 

“You gave away my blueprints to the first dim-witted poet who asked after them! You spoiled what came after death, for hundreds of years it was -  _ oh is this where I carry the boulder? Is this where I succumb to starvation and thirst? I’ve read about this bit- this is the laying down bit, right?  _ My life’s work!” 

“Can we get going please?” Crowley strained, “We’re wasting time. I think it would be best to get purgatory before Gabriel does any real damage. He’s been missing for over a month now.” 

“I haven’t even agreed to any- did you say Gabriel?” Crowley tried not to look too smug as Amira’s peaceful features twisted into a rage, “He thinks he can break into my house?” 

“There we go,” Crowley leaned over and whispered to Aziraphale, “I knew that’d get her,” Aziraphale looked at the sky and huffed, but didn’t complain about Crowley’s methods. Amira was working herself into a fury. She stomped her foot on the ground before forcefully opening the trunk of the Bentley and placing her instrument and music inside. 

“Alright then, we’re going,” she slammed the trunk shut so hard it made Crowley wince. Amira walked right past Adam and slid into the backseat of the car. She made a move to slide all the way to the window, but she stopped when she saw there was another young boy in the backseat. This one had dark hair, was dressed in very nice clothes, and seemed to be all too absorbed in the handheld videogame he had in his lap. Amira stared at him in confusion as everyone else joined her in the car. Amira found herself in the middle seat.

“Why are there two of them?” she leaned forward and stuck her head between the angel and the demon. 

“Relaaax,” Crowley droned as he stared the Bentley’s engine, “Adam and Warlock are just along for the ride.”

“Did their parents agree to this?” Amira asked, although she already suspected the answer.

“They think we’re spending a week in the South Downs,” said Warlock, not looking up from his game. He accent sounded all the more American inside the car, in the presence of three Brits and a French. 

“For the record,” Aziraphale stuttered from the passenger seat, “that was the original plan. But then things got all…” he wrung his hands, “muddled up.” 

“Stop the car,” Amira slumped back into her cramped seat, “I’ve changed my mind about helping you. I don’t do kids. The antichrist? Fine, but no kids.” 

“Aren’t you a kid?” questioned Warlock, setting down the gameboy in his lap.

“Most certainly not.”

“How old are you?” asked Adam. Amira now remembered that this was one of the many reasons she didn’t like children. The Questions.

“8013,” she said.

“I’m going to be 13 next year,” Warlock wouldn’t stop looking at her. It was as if Amira had something that was obviously not supposed to be on her face but was there anyway, and Warlock was debating whether to tell her or not. Amira didn’t like it. 

“Me too,” said Adam, “we’ve got the same birthday, you know.” 

“Really? Fascinating,” she lied.

“You don’t look like you’re 8013,” Warlock leaned forward in his seat to look at her closer; Amira leaned back. 

“Do Crowley and Aziraphale look like they’re over 6000?” 

“Yes,” said Adam.

“Yeah,” said Warlock. 

Crowley turned around from the driver’s seat, “Watch what words come out of those lips, boys. If you’re not careful I’ll have them sewn shut!” He grumbled a bit more before turning his eyes back to the road and getting on the highway. 

Aziraphale changed the subject, “How old  _ is _ your vessel, Amira? I haven’t seen you in another one in quite some time.” 

“Around 250, still breaking it in. Physically I’m somewhere between 14 and 15, the eternal purgatory of puberty,” she smiled at the thought, no one else in the car shared her opinion. “Is my ‘stop the car’ request just going unanswered then?” Amira shifted forward again, she hadn’t bothered to buckle her seatbelt. 

“I can stop the car if you really want,” said Crowley. He was quiet for several moments before speaking again, “I’m sure Gabriel would love to reorganize some things over there in purgatory. Maybe pocket a paperweight or two?” 

“I hear he’s started to collect patches for jackets and things,” Aziraphale interjected, “You don’t have any of those lying around, do you?” Amira grit her teeth and reluctantly sat back in her seat. 

“Keep driving,” Amira sat for another few moments in thought before she realized something, “You all came here from England, right?” 

“Yes,” said everyone except for Amira. 

“How did you drive over the channel?” 

“This car can do anything it puts its mind to,” Crowley ran his hand over the dashboard, “Isn’t that right?” 

“You think it can make it to the main entrance?” 

“Course it can,” Crowley said, pushing his dark sunglasses up his nose, “We’ll be there in a little over seven hours.” 

“Seven hours?!” Warlock complained from the backseat. 

“Don’t complain, young Warlock,” Aziraphale scolded, “It’s the quickest way to New Zealand there is.”

_______________________

* It was possible in fact for the demons of hell to be too warm. And if Earth continued to heat up they’d need to raise the thermostat so the human souls still thought it was so much hotter than Earth. Not many demons are fond of changing the thermostat however, and prefer to keep it at a cool 80℃.

**Lust had been particularly adamant about including their own Tinder themed punishment. But it was voted to be too frivolous and close to reality.  


**Author's Note:**

> This is a one shot, but I'm debating whether it should be turned into a full fic or not. (It certainly reads like the first chapter of one) Regardless, let me know what you guys think in the comments below! ;)


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